Close Enough to Kill (25 page)

Abby had no idea where she was, what time it was or why he had left her alone here in this dark, dismal, underground room.

This is where he’d kept Stephanie Preston before he killed her. And Thomasina Hardy had probably been shackled to this same bed.

Oh, God, help me!

Had Stephanie begged God for mercy? Had Thomasina pleaded for her life?

Damn him. I will not let him kill me. I’ll fight him. I’ll claw him and hit him and…

Ron, where are you? Why haven’t you found me? You promised me that I’d be safe. You told me to trust you.

This wasn’t Ron’s fault. He had no way of knowing the identity of the killer.

No one would ever suspect
him
. He was the last person on earth she’d have ever thought of as a sadistic killer. She had trusted him, just as she felt certain Stephanie and Thomasina had. As everyone in Adams Landing did.

Abby struggled against the ankle chain that bound her, forcing the metal to dig into her flesh. The pain radiated from her ankle up and through her whole body. She clamped her teeth together and endured the pain as she tried harder and harder to free herself.

Finally exhausted, her ankle bleeding, she accepted the fact that she could not escape, couldn’t move beyond a few feet from the bed, just far enough to reach the sink, but not the commode or the shower. She would have to lie here like a caged animal and wait for her captor’s return. She was hungry and needed to pee. Again. She’d already wet herself twice, and the stench of her own urine overpowered the metallic scent of her blood.

Despite the condition you’re in, be thankful. When he comes back, you don’t know what he’ll do to you. Prepare yourself to endure whatever happens, no matter how terrible. Survival is all that matters
.

Abby Miller’s nude body was found by hikers near a campsite at Adams County Park fifteen days after she disappeared from her home. Like the Secret Admirer killer’s other victims, she had been repeatedly raped and tortured before her abductor slit her throat, probably with the same knife he’d used at least nine other times. Jim was now convinced, more than ever, that Abby was the madman’s tenth victim and twenty-one-year-old Heather Stevens had been his first victim nearly seven years ago.

Jim had spoken to Bernie this morning, shortly before she left home to attend Abby’s funeral. The entire town of Adams Landing was in mourning, the whole county shocked and outraged over the third murder that had shattered their quiet, peaceful, safe lives. He wished he could be in two places at once so that he could stand at Bernie’s side today. She needed all the moral support she could get. She not only felt overwhelmed by a great sense of responsibility to the citizens who had elected her, but there were rumblings throughout the county that if R.B. was still sheriff, the killerwould be behind bars by now. As much as Bernie might need him today, Jim felt certain that what he was doing now would, in the long run, prove more beneficial in solving the case that, up to this point, had proved unsolvable.

As he parked his rental car on the street in front of Hilary Etheridge’s home in Greenville, South Carolina, Jim thought about his brief telephone conversation with his boss. Only two months ago, he had dreaded leaving Memphis to live and work in Adams Landing. Now, he realized that making that particular move had probably been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He and Kevin were building a true father/son relationship, and he had formed a friendship with Bernie Granger that meant more to him than he liked to admit.

“I’ve given Ron a one-month leave of absence,” Bernie had said. “He doesn’t want to take it, but—”

“You can’t let him make that decision. He’s in no shape to work. You did the right thing. He needs some time off to mourn and get his head straight.”

“I know. It’s just I worry that I’ll wind up having to put him in jail for interfering in this case. He’s sworn he’ll keep searching for Abby’s killer, whether or not he’s officially on the case.”

“Have R.B. talk to him. And if that doesn’t work, lock his ass up for a few days.”

“Ron’s not our only problem.”

“Are you saying everything’s fallen apart since I’ve been gone? Honey, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since I left.”

She hadn’t laughed, but in his mind’s eye, he could see her smiling. “I told you that you were needed here.”

“What else is wrong?”

“Brandon Kelley has hired himself a lawyer. He says he’s sick and tired of being harassed every time a new body shows up.”

“That was to be expected,” Jim had told her. “If I’d known all three victims the way Dr. Kelley did, I’d have already hired myself a lawyer.”

“Mmm…yeah, I know. So, are you going to talk to Heather Stevens’s family today?”

“Her father is dead and her mother refused to talk to me. But she has a younger sister. I spoke to her last night and she’s agreed to see me this morning.”

“Good luck, Jim. I hope you find out something that can help us before our killer chooses his next victim.”

Jim didn’t know what he’d find out from Heather’s sister, if anything. He had no idea what he was looking for, but his gut instincts told him that the answer to all their questions about the Secret Admirer killer were here in Greenville. He felt certain that Heather Stevens was the key to unlocking the mystery.

Hilary Stevens Etheridge had been seventeen when her twenty-one-year-old sister Heather was murdered. The lead detective on Heather’s case, Hal Shepard, had met with Jim late yesterday at the police station and had pulled strings to get copies made of the old files. Jim had spent half the night going over those files, reading and rereading the information, hoping something would give him a clue to the identity of Heather’s killer. After nearly seven years, the case was still unsolved, as was the murder of Heather’s best friend, Shannon Elmore, which occured a year later, here in Greenville.

Jim got out of the rental car, locked it and walked up the sidewalk to the neat two-story brick house in a new, upscale neighborhood. The Stevens family had money and social standing in the community, as did Kyle Etheridge, the man Hilary had married two years ago. If the police could have solved Heather’s murder case, they would have. Her family had used all their influence to pressure local law enforcement.

Jim rang the doorbell and waited. Several minutes later, an attractive young woman, obviously very pregnant, opened the door.

“Mrs. Etheridge?”

“Yes.” She offered him a fragile smile. “And you’re Captain Norton?”

He nodded.

“Please come in.”

He followed her from the foyer into the twenty-by-twenty living room and took the seat she indicated on the sleek, modern sofa. She eased her rotund body into a large, overstuffed chair and placed her hands beneath her protruding belly.

“I appreciate your talking to me,” Jim said.

“If what you say is true—that the person who killed Heather has gone on to kill nine more women—” Her voice cracked. She twined her fingers together.

“I’ve spoken to former police captain Hal Shepard,” Jim said. “He’s gone over the case with me and I’ve scoured the records, searching for anything that might help me.”

“But you found nothing.”

“Yeah.”

“In the end, the police concluded that Heather had been kidnapped, raped and murdered by some transient crazy who moved on right after the murder.”

“No one in her family, none of her friends or acquaintances knew of anyone who had something against Heather, right?” Jim asked.

“That’s right. My sister was very popular in high school and college and well liked by everybody. She was bright and beautiful and—” Hilary swallowed her tears.

“Are you saying she didn’t have any enemies, no one who was jealous of her? No old boyfriend who might not have been able to accept that she had someone new in her life?”

Hilary looked directly at Jim. “Of course, there were girls jealous of her. All the girls envied her. There wasn’t a brunette at Leighton Prep who didn’t want to be one of the Sable Girls. But a woman didn’t rape and murder my sister. And as for old boyfriends…” Hilary shook her head. “If you read the police files, you know that Captain Shepard questioned all of Heather’s old boyfriends and not one was ever a suspect.”

“What’s a Sable Girl?” Jim asked.

Hilary smiled. “Oh, that was a very exclusive little club that Heather created, just for her and a few of her best friends who were also brunettes. She formed the group her junior year, when she was sixteen.”

Jim’s gut tightened. “How many members were there in the Sable Girls club?”

“Oh my, I’m not sure. It was years ago. Not many. Four or five, I think, counting Heather.” Hilary laughed. “I did so want to grow up to be a Sable Girl.” She ran her fingers through her silky red hair. “But I’m afraid I didn’t possess the right color hair.”

“Would you mind trying to remember exactly how many members there were and what their names were?” Realizing his tone of voice bordered on badgering, he added, “Please.”

“Oh, yes…well, let me see. There was Heather and Shannon, of course.”

“Shannon Elmore.”

Hilary frowned. “She was murdered, too, and for a while we thought…The police could never prove the two murders were related. Shannon was killed over a year later, and although there were similarities…” Hilary took a deep breath. “But you already know all this, don’t you?”

Jim nodded. “Can you recall the names of any of the other girls in Heather’s exclusive little club?”

“I’m not sure. You know people from out of state send their kids to Leighton Prep. It’s one of the most prestigious private schools in the Southeast.”

“Give me a first name, a description…anything.”

“There was a girl from Tennessee. I can’t remember her name. She didn’t graduate from Leighton Prep. For some reason, she left at the end of her junior year.”

“Was her name Courtney Pettus?”

“It could have been. I only met her once…at Heather’s birthday party, and there were hundreds of people there.”

“Does the name Sara Hayes sound familiar?”

“Hmm…Sara Hayes has a familiar ring to it. I’m pretty sure one of the Sable Girls was named Sara, but I’m not sure about the last name. She graduated with Heather, but they went off to different colleges.” Hilary pinned him with a sharp glare. “Why are you asking me questions about the Sable Girls?”

“Just curious. Grasping at straws.” Jim rose to his feet. “I don’t suppose you have a yearbook from Leighton Prep, do you? One from your sister’s junior year?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t, but Mother may have kept Heather’s yearbooks.”

“Do you think you might be able to get your hands on a copy and send it to me?”

“Why do you—?”

“If you thought it might help to catch your sister’s killer, would you send me a copy of that yearbook?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

“I’ll leave you my address and phone number.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Captain Norton.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Abby’s funeral had been delayed long enough for her husband to fly home from the Middle East. It was a toss-up as to who was more bereaved—the husband or the boyfriend. Ricky Wayne’s mother clung to him, her strength apparently the only thing holding him together. Deputy John Downs and retired sheriff R.B. Granger flanked Ron Hensley through the entire funeral, including the brief graveside service. Just about everybody in Adams Landing showed up and possibly half the county. Being a beautician with lots of satisfied customers, Abby had been well known and well liked.

With such a huge turnout, people would have noticed if he hadn’t put in an appearance at the funeral and now at the Miller home. He paid his condolences, spoke to everybody he knew, and made his way outside onto the front lawn, where people milled about in the humid September sunshine.

Abby had been his greatest disappointment. She had fought him to the very end. No matter how many times he punished her, how badly he hurt her, she would never admit that she loved him. Choosing her had been a mistake. Except for her beautiful dark hair, she’d been nothing like Heather. Abby Miller had been a cheap tramp, a stubborn, stupid cunt.

He had agonized over how he could have made such a mistake in choosing Abby. She was the first who had defied him day after day, never accepting the fact that he was her master. He knew he couldn’t act hastily in selecting the next woman, possibly the last woman here in northeast Alabama before he’d be forced to move on. His next choice would give him one more chance to find his perfect mate, someone as worthy of him as Heather had been.

She was out there somewhere, just waiting for him. Someone young and lovely. A pretty brunette. A lady desired by many men. She might even be here today in this crowd of mourners.

After leaving Leighton Prep, Jim drove straight to the airport to catch his evening flight. He’d spent most of the afternoon trying to get in to see the principal, a hoity-toity little man named Alistair Dueitt, who’d finally agreed to a brief meeting after Hal Shepard had intervened.

No, he wouldn’t reveal the names of any previous Leighton Prep students, Dr. Dueitt had adamantly declared. It was against school policy. And no, he would not loan Jim a copy of the yearbook from Heather Stevens’s junior or senior years. If the Stevens family had not chosen to share Heather’s yearbook with Jim, then the school was certainly not at liberty to do so.

Jim had struck out on all counts. Except one. He’d learned an interesting bit of information not even mentioned in the police files. Heather Stevens and Shannon Elmore had belonged to some snobby group of teenage brunettes who’d called themselves the Sable Girls. And Jim would bet his pension that Sara Hayes and Courtney Pettus had also been members of that exclusive little club. But he couldn’t travel from city to city, from state to state, interviewing people, investigating the lives of the killer’s victims. He was way out of his jurisdiction, with absolutely no legal authority. What he needed was a private investigator. As luck would have it, he just happened to know one.

Settling in at the busy, bustling airport to wait on his flight, Jim put in a call to Griffin Powell. He hoped his old buddy would agree once again to work pro bono. Neither Jim nor Adams County could afford to pay the kind of fees the Powell Agency charged.

“What’s up, Jim?” his former UT roommate asked.

“I need another favor. Another freebie.”

“Something to do with the Secret Admirer killer?”

“Have you been reading Huntsville newspapers, or has word already spread all the way to Knoxville about what’s going on in northeast Alabama?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve kept informed. So, what do you need?”

“I need you to do this as a personal favor,” Jim said. “The sheriff’s department is not hiring you. I am. And you know the state of my financial affairs.”

Griffin chuckled. “Like you said, this will be another freebie.”

“Okay, thanks. First, I need a list of students who attended Leighton Prep in Greenville, South Carolina, at the same time a young woman named Heather Stevens went there. She graduated eleven years ago.”

“Send me what information you have and I’ll get right on it.”

“I also need a yearbook from that same time, from Heather’s junior and senior years.”

“Okay.”

“And one more thing.”

“Just one more.”

Jim grunted. “Yeah, I need to find out why a girl named Courtney Pettus left Leighton Prep after her junior year.”

When Jim arrived home, he found Bernie waiting up for him and Kevin asleep on the sofa, Boomer resting at his feet. Wearing a pair of faded jeans and a seen-better-days T-shirt, Bernie met him at the door, her hair sleep-tousled, her face void of makeup, and looking better than a woman had a right to at this time of night. His plane had landed forty-five minutes ago, and he’d broken a few speed limits on his drive from Huntsville. Why? Because he’d known Bernie would be waiting for him.